


Killer hugs and potent drugs.

by AFurryBunny



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: F/M, I still don't know, Jeff is Jeff though, With A Twist, an experiment?, creepy?, i don't know what this is, it takes one to know one, you're you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-10-09 09:12:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10408827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFurryBunny/pseuds/AFurryBunny
Summary: You’re the new girl in the neighborhood. Just moved into a new house remodeled on the street. A new girl means a new victim. A new victim means a new kill. A new kill means more satisfying entertainment. If all that is true then… why can’t, Jeff bring himself to finish the job? What the hell makes you so special?





	1. Looming Shadows.

**Author's Note:**

> Whoever said psychotic serial killers could never feel love or be capable of love had clearly never seen a single episode of Bates Motel, American Horror Story or, Dexter. I’m just sayin’.

Finding a place of your own so soon was remarkable. To find one close to your new workspace was even better. It was a big place for one person. It was a refurbished, remodelled house on sale. A three bedroom house was a little excessive but for the rate, it was going for you couldn't refuse. You didn't even need your own furniture. The furniture came with the house. Of course something like that with a beautiful garden and even better yard, with a huge pool mind you, had a fitting catch. The full disclosure of the house made you shudder. To be an object of such horrific violence at a kid's party was unthinkable. The real estate agent told you of what happened to those poor boys. All of them went through so much pain. Especially the one who was forced to fight back against the violent bullies. The locals said it was the birthplace of, Jeff the Killer. A homicidal teen disfigured by the attack of his enemies. The truth was, no one wanted to live in the abandoned house across the street. The white walls were covered in dirt. The paint was either cracked or peeling off the walls. The roof looked like it was missing a few tiles. The windows were filthy, shattered and covered with black plastic. The lawn outside was overgrown. What once would have been a garden turned into a wild shrubbery. The telephone line hung against the broken walls. The place was just an overall unkempt mess. The run-down ruins gave you the chills the first time you laid eyes on it. It was no wonder no one wanted to live anywhere near it. Yet there you were, piling the boxes of clothing and other trinkets into your new home. The place might have had its own décor but it wouldn't feel like your home without a touch of you in there. 

You were folding your clothing into their respective place when you felt an uncomfortable chill slither down your spine. It made you want to shake it off. Your heart felt as though it skipped a beat every second time. It created a harsh pain in your chest. The sun began its decent passed the hillside which darkened your surroundings. You made a note to start switching on some lights when you were done. However, that feeling in your chest never left. In fact, it grew worse. Instead of skipping a few beats your heart began to race. You could not shake the feeling of growing paranoia. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it was all irrational emotion your fear only intensified. You kept your head down and your hands busy in hope that whatever was watching you wouldn't realise you had noticed their ominous presence. Your hands began to involuntarily shake. You got to your feet from the crouched position you were in. You slowly made your way to the light switch and flicked on the light in your new bedroom. You made your way around the house at the same pace. You were so on edge that you flinched with every sound you heard. Your breath was undoubtedly hitched in your throat. Those uneasy shivers slithered down your spine a second time. For some reason, the house seemed to grow a whole lot colder. Which was weird given it was the middle of Spring. You could not shake the feeling that someone, or something, had their eyes on your every move. You were so on edge that you squealed when your phone rang. You placed a hand on your chest with an amused smile to steady your racing heart. You trotted back upstairs to where you had left your phone on the bed in your new room. However, when you got there the phone was absent. Your brow creased into a frown. You were so sure that was where you left it. You followed the ringing to the table at the bottom of the stairs. You must have been wrong about where you'd left it. The question was… why would it be there of all places? You didn't even use that table. You shrugged the eeriness of the question off and answered the phone. 

"Hey, mum." You said with a relieved smile, "Yeah, the house is beautiful. You'd love the garden. It's full of azaleas, hydrangeas and rose bushes. Yes, I'll make sure to look after everything. Yes, I'll be fine in a big house all on my own. No, mum, I don't need housemates to fuck up everything and cost me a fortune in the end. If it makes you feel any better I'll ask one of my friends to stay over for a few days until I've fully settled in. Jesus, mum I'll be fine just calm down about this. Yes, I know you're worried about me but there's nothing to worry about. Ok, I love you too, bye."  
You rolled your eyes at the overprotective woman on the other end of the line. She was partial to the reason you were glad you lived on your own. That you were able to get out of the crowded house. You put your phone in your jean pocket before grabbing your car keys. Your stomach growled and you hadn't eaten for hours. You made your way to the nearest pizza hut. A stop at the bottle store wouldn't have hurt either. You got yourself a bottle of cherry flavoured vodka. (See what I did there?) You then made your way back home with a slice of pizza in your mouth. You were so hungry that it couldn't wait until you got home. The sun was down, therefore it was dark out. The strange thing was you were sure you turned on some lights. Yet your house was shrouded in darkness. Not a hint of light emitted from the building. You got out the car with drink and pizza in hand. Your brow creased a second time. The feeling of paranoia creeping up on you again. You flicked on some light switches with a shaking hand. You made a beeline for the kitchen to tuck into your food. You got a glass out of the cupboard to pour a generous amount of cherry vodka for yourself. The light buzz the alcohol gave off got rid of the fear you felt. 

You spent the rest of the night getting tipsy and texting friends you'd made from work. You made plans with those work friends for the following night. Your spelling was atrocious in some of the texts but you blamed that on the cherry vodka. You grew weary of amusing conversations and took the bottle of vodka up to bed with you. You flopped onto your back with your head against the duck feather pillows. You should have noticed the sinister shadow looming near your window. Your eyes fluttered shut as you began to drift into a dizzying sleep. Then there was the voice.   
"Go to sleep." Crooned a coarse voice just barely above a whisper.  
You kept your eyes shut as the figure came closer. There was the sound of muffled laughter. You felt the bed move from beneath you. At that rate, you struggled to sober up. Your heart pounded flush against your chest. You tried your best to control the quickened breathing. Your head began to swim to the point that you needed to pull yourself over the edge and hurl. You kept your grip tight on the neck of the bottle. As the steak knife was raised above you, you hit the intruder with all the power you could muster. There was a surprised, ‘fuck' that gave you the opportunity you needed to escape. You swung yourself over the edge of the bed. You had just narrowly avoided getting stabbed in the arm. The steak knife ripped a hole in the mattress instead. There was an audible squeak on your end and a frustrated growl from his. The guy was an utter terror to see. With sunken black rings around wide, wild eyes, unkempt ace black hair, leathery white skin and a wide gash that reached from ear to ear on the corners of his mouth. His wide lips curled into a nasty snarl. You turned on your heel to flee from the nightmare before you. In your drunken state, you had tripped over your own feet as you passed the doorway. You could hear the loud thudding of his nearing heavy footsteps behind you. You looked for any means of support to help you. Once out the front door, you just ran. Regardless of the fact, your legs were like moving around in gelatine. The only time you lost his lurking shadow was when you reached the police station five blocks away from home. You thought you would be safe there. Well, you were wrong. Very, very wrong.


	2. Bloody cat.

The encounter with the murderous intruder had you shaken up good. The police searched your house from top to bottom with no signs of a break-in. There was no evidence of an attack of any kind. When they asked you to describe what your attacker looked like they seemed on edge. None of them would look you in the eye. The officer and his partner shared a look you didn't like. You demanded to know what had them so uneasy. They seemed off when they saw the house you lived across. They told you that the person that could have broken into your house was a copycat killer of, Jeffrey Woods. However, the incident took place almost ten or so years ago. They never caught, Jeffrey but the killings in the surrounding towns quietened down for a long time. They figured a fanatic must have heard that you moved into the house where the boy's sanity officially snapped. You weren't keen on staying on your own with obsessed, manic copycats that wanted to open your torso. Two police officers were prompted to keep your place under twenty-four-hour surveillance until they caught the son of a bitch that terrorised you the night before. They were frightened of the infamous run-down house across the road. Your curiosity would have to wait until the morning. There was no chance in the seven hells you were going exploring that place at night. Still, something about that house drew you in. Like a sick beckoning voice calling out to your psyche. You went back to your bedroom feeling safer with the police outside your house. You pulled the curtains away just to make sure they were still there. Your eyes shifted upward to the house just across from you. You could have sworn you saw something move. 

For the next two weeks, there would be a patrol car outside of your house. There were no signs of a second break-in since then. However, you had met a strange man. One who had knocked on your door to ask you some questions for an article he was writing for school. You had a soft spot for young journalists so you let him in. He looked somewhat familiar yet you couldn't quite put your finger on why. You offered him some orange juice whilst the made himself comfortable. He looked around the room like he was studying the place. It was odd but you brushed it off.   
"Have you ever been in this town before?" He asked as he took the glass from you.   
"No, actually I haven't." You admit with an awkward smile, "But it seems like an amazing place. A nice neighbourhood with even better people. I mean, some of the kids are a little stuck-up and full of shit but that's what you can expect sometimes with rich folk. What about you? Do you like it here?"  
"This interview isn't about me, madam." He quipped, "This is about you. What's your name? I'm sorry, I forgot to ask."  
"Oh, of course, my name is, (your name) (your last name)." You retorted, trying not to acknowledge the creepy demeanour dripping from the kid's wicked smile.   
"Have you met him yet?" He asked, leaning closer to you, his grin widening.   
"Have I met who yet?" You answered, a deep frown furrowing your brow.   
"Jeff the Killer of course." He said with a manic chuckle, "I heard you've seen him!"  
"Ok, I think you should leave." You urged in frustration, "Time for you to go, kid."   
"He'll come again." He called over his shoulder as you ushered him out, "Oh, yes." 

You hadn't seen the kid for a week after that. Yet you always felt eyes on you wherever you went. The damaged kid followed you everywhere until you threatened to throw him into the abandoned house. You would feed him to the wolf he loves so much. That gained you a coarse laugh in response. You realised the freak might have wanted you to introduce him. When you got home that afternoon you decided to do some research on the killer that was pretty much born within the walls you called home. Sure, he might have been unstable before the incidents but he completely snapped in your house. What you found made your stomach churn. His victims were skinned and crudely disembowelled. The guy was sick. There were made up stories about him on fan websites. One said something about a flare gun whilst another said something about him slipping on a bar of soap and pouring acid all over his face. There was one that complied with the stories you'd heard about from the locals. That must have been the true story of, Jeff the Killer. Each one sent shivers down your spine. The kid was twisted on so many levels. He was no longer a kid though. He must have been in his early twenties by the time you moved into your new home. You shut the laptop with the image of what, Jeffrey Woods looked like as a kid before he was burnt. He would have been a handsome boy if fate hadn't been cruel to him. For some reason, it was always the attractive ones that were crazy. Especially those born in your generation. You sighed at the time that flew by and made your way up to the bedroom. Flopped onto your bed with a sigh. 

The sigh shifted to a gurgled gasp as a hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed tight. You had no line of defence the second time around. Your eyes opened to meet your attacker. He had a steak knife pointed at your chest. You choked on what little breaths you could get through his strong grasp. Your fingers clawed at his hand that held you down. Your lungs could not get enough oxygen and it made your head spin. The vital organs felt as though they were set alight. You struggled beneath him but his weight must have been twice that of your own. You recognised the spreading grin on his face as the steak knife lowered. Your face grew flustered from the force of his grip on your throat. You tried your hardest to pull and scratch at his arm until your nails drew blood. He seemed indifferent to the pain. You grew weaker the longer he gripped your throat. Your heart began to slow after it raced so violently before. He lowered his face so that his wide, manic gaze met yours. You could smell the stench of sweat on him as he grew nearer.   
"Go to sleep." He said with a hiss.   
"You first, little unoriginal copycatting bitch." Another voice sounded from behind.   
That same coarse voice you heard the first night you moved in. There was a gurgle from above you before warm, red liquid splattered onto your face. A bigger knife sticking out of the boy's chest. You gasped for air as much as you could when the boy slumped over beside you. You saw the face of the real, Jeff. It looked more furious than when you hit him over the head with a bottle of vodka. It was like looking into the face of Satan himself. You bunched up against the headboard. He pulled the legs of the boy until his body hit the floor with a sickening thud. You used that opportunity to escape the horrific scene. You got to your feet and stumbled on the bed before passing the pissed psychopath. He managed to grab your wrist in time.   
"Oh, no, not this time." He growled through clenched teeth, "This time you stay."

The more you struggled against his grip the tighter it got. His angered snarl transformed into an amused smile. You tried to pry the hand that held you from your wrist. The more you huffed in panicked frustration, trying to pull away from him, the closer he pulled you toward him. You hadn't noticed he was holding you against him until his arm wrapped around your waist. He squeezed tight against your ribs. You gasped as his hold on you strengthened. You breathed in his scent. It was most unpleasant. Like fresh blood and seriously sour breath. You tried pushing against him to create a distance large enough for you to breathe. His arm dug into your back as he held you tighter. He was entertaining himself by causing you great discomfort. He was like a cat toying with the mouse before killing it and tearing off the head. He leant into the nape of your neck and ran what was left of his nose along the line of your jaw. He was getting a good smell of you. He then dropped you like you were nothing. He quite frankly almost threw you across the room. With strength like that the police could do nothing for you against him. You scrambled to your feet… just missing the bloody knife that was thrown at your head. You slipped on the wooden floors with your feet covered in blood. You made your way to the front door where a police officer was waiting for you. He had a gun held in hand as you gestured to your room. You waited for the sound of gunshots from outside. When there was nothing you began to stress. What if, Jeff had killed the policeman before he could defend you? You paced back and forth. Unsure of what to do you walked toward the police van. You peered inside for the walkie in the middle of the front seats. As your hand reached for the form of communication a hand grabbed your shoulder. You shrieked and punched the face of the cop behind you. After profuse apologising and him insisting it was fine, he told you news that made your shoulders slump. There was no sign of the killer or the body of the boy anywhere within the house. They both just vanished leaving only blood behind. That meant another visit from, Jeff. Next time he would want to finish what he had started.  
Next time you were dead for sure.


	3. The voices in my head...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason the name, Copycat Johnny sounds like he could be his own creepypasta. A serial killer that copies everything the victim does before killing them, just to torment their sanity? I dunno.

There were paramedics that checked on you in the front of your house. The curious neighbours all stood out on their porches. All straining to see what was going on. Detectives asked those close enough if they saw or heard anything during the night. If any one of them saw the intruders entering or leaving the house. None of them said they saw anything. Your screams were too coarse to hear from a distance. Black and purple bruises formed around your neck as well as your wrist. Both shaped like a handprint. They took you to the station where they scraped under your nails. They took a swab from the blood you were covered in as well just to see if the DNA under your nails matched the blood. There were two of them after all. You knew for a fact that none of the DNA results would bring up, Jeffrey. Still, they said there was no such thing as too careful. When you got home there were at least twelve missed calls from your mother. You got a serious scolding once you called her back. A friend of hers lived three houses down from you so she would have called the woman to tell her what happened. You grunted and moaned back at her. You were not in the mood for her grilling you about how you should have listened to her. She warned you not to buy the house. That you should have been patient enough to wait for something else to pop up in the area. That your eagerness was your downfall. You grumbled a goodbye before putting the phone down in her ear. You got into the shower to wash away what could have been all that was left of the boy from your skin. Your hair was caked in the dry blood. You watched as red water flowed down the drain under your feet. You found the mixture of blood and water fascinating. Like the light red swirls had you in a sort of hypnotic trance. 

A few days after the second incident there was a violent knocking at your door. You switched rooms to sleep in. That particular bedroom seemed to be serious bad luck. There were three others to choose from so that wasn't a problem. It was late in the afternoon and a long day of work. You were cutting up some carrots when it happened. Your shoulders slumped in frustration as you answered the door. You weren't in the mood for the furious woman at your doorstep. She barged passed you without asking to be let in. It was rude of her. She looked around the house before whipping around to face you with a snarl.   
"My son is dead because of you!" She said, ice forming with every word she said, "He was eighteen years old. He had so much left to do with his life! He was going to be a successful journalist. He was going to go to great places and do remarkable things. Johnny can never do that now and it's all your fault!"  
"How is your son breaking into my house and choking me to death, with a fucking knife to my chest, my fault?" You snapped back, your anger equal to hers.   
"He was a troubled boy. He didn't know what he was doing. He would have snapped out of it eventually." She stammered, taken aback by your sense of simple logic.   
"Yeah, when he killed me." You responded in monotone, "Then you wouldn't have given a single shit. Probably just moved away and tried to forget it ever happened."   
You remembered the knife in your hand only when it stabbed through the wood of the table beside you. The boy's mother flinched at the sound of metal against wood. Not even you knew you had the strength to slice through a thick layer of yellowwood.   
The boy's mother noticed your strength as well. Her eyes widened at the look of seething fury on your face. She wouldn't have cared if her son killed you. She didn't think that you were someone's daughter too. That there was someone who loved you just as much as she loved her damaged son. The idiot deserved what he got. There was a nervous whimper from her end of the room. She had taken a step back. 

"Y-you put that away now." She stammered, "I didn't come here looking for trouble."  
Yes, she did. A voice whispered into your mind.   
"I'm just missing my, Johnny is all." She continued to stutter, "He was my only boy."   
No, she wanted to place the blame of his death on you. She wanted you to feel guilty about something that wasn't your fault. She wanted you to feel responsible for his death without giving a flying fuck what happened to you. I mean, the bitch can see the bruises on your neck and she still insisted it was your fault. Now she's trying to defend herself against something that was clearly obvious. She probably thinks you're stupid. That because you aren't as rich as her you're simple minded.   
"Do you really think I'm that stupid, lady?" You asked, your tone threateningly low.   
"No! I don't think you're stupid at all! I-" She babbled, getting cut off by your anger.   
"Oh, don't give me that shit." You said with a loud, biting tone, "If he had succeeded in killing me would you have gone to my mother and apologised? Would you have begged for a reprieve for what you son had done? No, I didn't think so."   
You pulled at the knife lodged into the middle of the table and threw it at her head. It would have hit in the middle of her forehead if she hadn't ducked out of the way in time. 

A blood-curdling scream left the woman's throat as she stood upright. It snapped you out of the seething trance you were in. You felt a wave of dizziness wash over you as you came out of the hypnosis created by the hatred you had for her and her son. You shook your head to get rid of nausea. You looked up at the shaken woman cowered in a corner. She reminded you of a terrified animal. You had two emotions intertwined with one another in that moment. One was a feeling of great power that you had over her the other was a pang of guilt from your conscience.   
"Just, get out and never come back here." You ordered, standing aside for her.   
You could not look her in the eye as she scampered passed you. She whimpered when she got close. Unsure of whether you would hurt her or not. You remained in the same stature to assure her that it was fine to leave. You heard the door slam.   
Honestly, you should have just killed her. She's clearly as damaged as her son. Must be because of her that he was in really bad shape upstairs.   
"I can't be in any better condition if I'm hearing voices in my head." You murmured.   
Yeah, and now you're talking to yourself. Congratulations! You're a crazy person.   
"And apparently they have a sarcastic attitude." You muttered under your breath.   
You walked over to pull the knife from the door you threw it at. It was much more difficult to remove it without being controlled by unnecessary rage. You weren't sure of what had gotten into you and there was no way you were willing to find out. At least you knew you could defend yourself the next time someone tried to hurt you. 

You were curious about what actually happened to the body of, Copycat Johnny. The day after the encounter with his mother had you thinking. You looked over at the abandoned house across the street. You knew it could have been suicide but your curiosity got the better of you every time you argued against it.   
If you ask me I think you should go pay old, Jeffrey Woods a visit. He did save you.   
Saved by a psychopathic serial killer. Who would have thought it was possible? You tucked one of the knives in your collection into your boot. You noticed that one of them were missing. Johnny must have taken one of your own steak knives to kill you with. You rolled your eyes at the true idiot and shuffled your way to the old Wood's house. You stopped at the broken down gate. All the common sense in you urged you to turn around. To rethink going into that house alone.   
You're already here. Why turn back now? Besides, he's probably just going to break into your house again to finish you off. Why not bring the fight to him instead?  
The voices in your head were much braver than you. Yet, they did have a point. You jumped over the gate and made your way to a shattered window. You swung your legs over into the house. It truly was too late to turn back. You jumped onto the black wooden floor. The house was too dark to see anything. The smell that wafted up to your nose as you landed made you gag. The place smelt of rotting wood, moulded drywall and decaying flesh with a hint of metallic, dried blood. You had to cover your nose to keep from gagging a second time. You waited for your eyes to adjust to your dark surroundings before pressing forward. 

The wooden floors creaked beneath your feet as you walked. Your body was tense. It was as if you waited for him to appear just around the next corner with that gruesome smile on his face. There were cobwebs everywhere you turned. You had to splutter to get keep them out of your mouth. You squeaked when a very large spider landed on your shoulder. Your hissy fit made a lot of noise in the otherwise silent house. You froze in place with your heart galloping in your chest. When there was no reaction anywhere you made your ascent up the creaky stairs. The first room you walked into must have once been the room of his parents. There were dust covered photos of the family everywhere. The faces in the many pictures had been distorted to look like his. They made you shudder and continue on your way. You made it to the second room when you heard loud noises from downstairs. You knocked over something from fright. It was a hard ball that rolled out into the hallway. You heard hard footsteps approach the room you were in. You scrambled under the four post bed, counting on the darkness to hide you.   
Oh sure, because that's not the first obvious place he's going to look for you. Honey, he's a killer he can smell your fear… with what little of his nose he has left.   
All you could hear was the pounding of your heart in your ears and the slow footsteps getting closer. You shut your eyes tight, covering your mouth, as the footsteps stopped at the foot of the bed. He stood there for a while. It made you think that if you hadn't made a sound or moved a muscle that he would give up and go away. You weren't so lucky. Harsh hands reached out and grabbed your ankles. He pulled you out from hiding.   
"How did you know Hide and Seek is my favourite game?" He asked with a laugh.


	4. Oh, dear God.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gets a little kinky I suppose.

Sniff.  
_Shit, what is that smell? Like a piss poor butcher’s shop. Did you step in something dead and roll around in copper?_  
Sniff.  
 _Oh,_ God _it’s worse the second time. Don’t breathe in deep again. Ok, I think it’s safe to open your eyes now._  
Shuffle. Groan. Screeching scrape. Throaty cough.  
 _There are times I’ve been wrong. You know I’ve been wrong._  
“If you don’t want your host to know you’re awake you should hide your disgust better.” Came the ominous advice from your then possible killer, “Come now, and open your eyes. You’re being rude toward my other guests.”  
Your eyes fluttered open and there was an unexpected intake of breath. The only light in the room was the flickering of the melted candles in the middle of the dinner table. Your eyes had to adjust to the dim surroundings. Dread washed over you in suffocating waves. On your left was the woman who stopped by your house that afternoon. On your right was her son. The body of the one was more decayed than the body of the other. Their throats were slit from ear to ear and the cavities in their chests oozed. Their faces were carved to look like his. Their teeth were bared in the most chilling, wide grins. There were three other people who had suffered the same fate.

“It doesn’t seem like they had a chance to complain.” You murmured with your nose crinkled up.  
The stench of burnt flesh and decay made you gag. You could not move your hands. You hissed as your body registered the pain that shot up and down your arms. You looked down at your wrists to find that they had been bound to the armrests with barbed wire. The more you struggled the deeper the blades cut into your flesh. Hundreds of little metal shards bit and ripped at your skin. Fresh blood pooled to the surface of your wrists. Your eyes shifted to the only other living being in the room. He was amused by your efforts to escape his agonising trap. His tongue stroked over his front teeth.  
“You’re right.” He agreed with a chuckle, “They didn’t have a choice. It’s what he gets for trying to be me. It’s what she gets for getting pissed at the wrong killer. I don’t appreciate when people get credit for shit I’ve done. It’s what they get for, well, actually just because I had the space to fill.”  
“You’re sick.” You stated with a hiss.  
“I am.” He replied without missing a beat, “I made us a hearty stew for dinner. Now, I’ll have to feed you since you’re a little tied down at the moment.”

He got up from the chair he was sitting on and made his way to you with a bowl of steaming stew in his hands. The look in his wide eyes was unmistakeably mischievous. Like he knew something that you didn’t. It made that atmosphere about him that much more evil. He leaned against the table and picked up the spoon in front of you. He scooped a generous amount of the stew into the spoon and held it at your mouth. You shied away from the offered food with your lips shut tight.  
“Don’t insult me.” He warned, his brow creasing into a dangerous frown.  
He did not wait for you to open your mouth. He shoved the in the spoon without warning. The metal smacked against your teeth and made you flinch from the impact. He tore the utensil from your mouth with just as much impatience. The roughness of his actions made a third of the stew dribble down the side of your mouth. The meat in the stew was tough. The gravy tasted like black pudding. You gagged on the metallic taste it left in your mouth. He took the opportunity to shove in another spoonful of the foul tasting slop. You coughed up some of it that slithered down the wrong hole. By then you were gagging hard enough to bring it back up. He fed himself a spoonful of his horrendous concoction. A low hum escaped his lips and his head tilted back. The sound of satisfaction tugged at your chest. You watched as he savoured every spoonful. You swallowed a large lump in your throat. Your sudden change in demeanour made you shift in your seat. You felt such things for the gorgeous men/women with god-like visage on the big screens, not a psychotic, quite possibly cannibalistic serial killer.

“I like the way you’re looking at me.” He said between spoonfuls.  
“Like you’re a hideous monster with no feeling of self worth?” You quipped.  
“Like you want me to fuck you on the table we’re sitting at.” He retorted, “I might just. I haven’t had that kind of company in a long time. Most of them were just men and women who worship me. Who saw me as some kind of demon god. All of which were gut-wrenchingly boring. I made them all beautiful afterward.”  
“You’re full of yourself.” You muttered under your breath.  
Your sinister host ground his teeth at your last remark and got up from the table.  
“Whatever.” He huffed before marching his way into the darkness.  
You were left in silence with the eyes of the judgemental dead on you. It was your fault they were all there in the first place. Well, two of them anyway. You shifted in your seat and the barbed wire scraped at the raw flesh. You noticed, if you ignored the shooting pain, that there was a gap between the wooden furniture and metal. You were able to pull your bound wrists free if only to ignore the acute pain. You ground your teeth together and shut your eyes so tight they began to ache. The blades raked against sensitive skin. Blood trickled down the wooden chair. Your heart throbbed in your ears as you freed yourself from the tearing confines. You steadied your breathing and looked around for your captor. When you were sure there was no sound but your galloping heart and your perpetual breath you got up and sprinted for the nearest exit. Unfortunately that was a blackened window. You prepared yourself to leap through the window. You already had the wounds on your wrists. What were a few more cuts everywhere else?

You positioned yourself to break through the window. You were so close to freedom. Yet two strong hands grabbed at your waist and hoisted you backward into his tight embrace. He dragged you backwards further into his dilapidated house to what could have once been a living room. It was fruitless to struggle against his strength. In the darkness you could only make out his muscular silhouette. His rapid breath was hot against your neck.  
“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not out of the woods yet.” He purred against your neck.  
He dropped you onto what used to be a couch. Before you could escape him a second time he held you down at the throat. He had straddled your lower half. He had your hands above your head with his own free hand. It was just as fruitless to struggle beneath him. You could not move at all. He dipped low and snaked his hot tongue from the nape of your neck to your earlobe.  
“Don’t fight me, play with me.” He whispered into your ear.  
His lips brushed against the skin sending pleasant shivers down your spine. He removed his hand from your throat and the tips of his fingers brushed the fabric that separated him from what he wanted. His fingers lingered at the growing heat between your legs before slithering their way down to the apex of your thigh. He then dug them into the soft flesh and nipped at your neck, bucking his hips against you. Your head began to lighten at his advances. You could feel yourself dampen from the simple things he did.  
“I’m going to have you.” He hummed low, his voice raw with lust.  
Undressing you in such a position seemed effortless to him. You didn’t stop him. You knew you should have but you didn’t. You didn’t want to stop him. Not after you felt his clothed erection brush against your bare thigh.

He stroked his rough hands along either side of your body before removing his own constraints. The time he took to get undress seemed agonising. He was playing with you. Teasing you. You could not see much in the darkness but you could feel him. He took hold of your hips and raised you up against his arousal. He rubbed your slit against the head of his cock. It made you whimper. He lowered himself with his face mere inches from your own, pressing himself against your entrance. He chuckled low before inching himself into you. You gasped as his thickness stretched your inner walls. There were a few seconds before he began to thrust with strong and steady rhythm, making sure he was deep enough to reach your limit. The head hit that special sweet spot with every thrust. His hand reached around your throat once more and squeezed. The once silent room was filled with heated grunts and choked moans. Your head began to spin. That euphoric wave grew closer and closer until your walls constricted around his cock, your stomach began to tighten and your toes began to curl. It was an explosion of pure, addictive bliss. He, on the other hand, showed no signs of stopping regardless of how sensitive you had become. Those rhythmic thrusts had not stopped after three more orgasms ripped through you. You felt him twitch from inside you and he pulled out much to your dismay. He peeled himself off of you and disappeared into the black abyss. You winced as you got up from the very uncomfortable couch and felt for your clothes in the dark. The dizziness from the loss of blood and rough sexual encounter overwhelmed you. You were forced to sit until your head ceased spinning.  
 _Maybe you should just… Go to sleep_


End file.
